Realm of Ashes
by Not Enough Answers
Summary: Seq to The Fate's Illusion. The year is 1965, and William Riddle finds himself caught in a whirlwind of mystery and intrigue he could never have imagined, as the wizarding and Muggle worlds begin to intertwine...
1. Prologue: Smoke

**Hi, everyone! I still can't believe I'm actually doing this. Anyway, here is the sequel that's really more of a spinoff to _The Fate's Illusion._ Updates, sadly, will probably be few and far between, but then again I said that about my last two stories and I ended up updating every five days, so you never know.**

**There's going to be a bit of romance, but it won't be the main focus; this story is going to be very plot-driven. You should be able to recognize a lot of the supporting characters. ;)**

**And last but not least, I'm writing a companion piece to the AEP trilogy, which is going to include "deleted" scenes and extra scenes from that world. It'll be a collection of oneshots describing moments that weren't in the original fics for whatever reason, but still technically happened in that universe. It's called _House of Cards_ and you're more than welcome to read that if you're so inclined. :)**

* * *

_**September 1, 1965**_

The sky above London was painted the hazy blue of twilight; a few stars could be seen already, their light effused with a distant, cold beauty. Most pedestrians, however, were keeping their eyes fixed firmly on the ground, their coats drawn tightly around them to ward off the chill in the air. The city had been lucky thus far; they'd had a warm, sunny summer for the most part, but they couldn't avoid the warning signs of autumn for long.

A young woman, barely older than twenty, broke off from the crowd and hurried down a seemingly deserted side street, her long, slightly curled fair hair fluttering in the breeze. She tottered unsteadily on her heels, wishing she'd decided to take the bus home or at least worn a pair of flat shoes. Elated with the success of her first day at a new job, she'd gone to the bar to celebrate instead of going straight home—a mistake that would cost her dearly.

She sighed in relief when her house came into view; halting in the middle of the road, she pulled off her shoes and ran up the steps, frowning when she saw that the front door was unlocked. She was certain she'd locked it that morning.

She flicked on the light as soon as she entered, reaching for the metal rod she kept hidden just inside. But her fingers had barely closed over the weapon when she was forced backward, her head slamming against the closed door.

In the dim light, she could barely see the outline of a very tall, very muscular figure with hair as black as night that fell to his shoulders, lanky and unkempt. The cold edge of a knife pressed into her throat.

"Please—" she gasped, the rod clattering back to the floor. "I have money—I have jewels—I'll give you anything—"

"But I don't _want _anything," the intruder sneered, his deep voice a low rumble, like a lion who knows it has cornered its prey. "You have betrayed us. And the world shall know exactly what you are."

She screamed, twisting away from the knife and kicking out blindly, but her attacker had her firmly pinned to the door, his elbow digging into her collarbone and forcing the air out of her lungs. She choked and gasped, scrabbling uselessly at his arm with her nails as she lost her balance, sinking to the ground and her face rapidly draining of colour. "I haven't betrayed anyone!" she managed to wheeze out. "You have the wrong person—"

"Oh, I don't think so," the man murmured. Relinquishing his grip on her for a moment, he waited for air to come rushing back into her lungs so she would get the full effect of his next words. The knife was still poised at her throat, while his fingers stroked a wand that was hidden just out of view. It was a shame he had to kill yet another Muggle, he thought, but it was necessary. She was no better than the others. Besides, she had already proven herself to be fraternizing with the enemy. He had to get rid of her.

As she slowly came back to consciousness, breathless and panting, her eyes focused on him, narrowing in hatred. But she was too weak to properly fight back, and he smirked at her as he bent his head down and whispered in her ear, "You have the honour of being the first one killed in our quest to rid the world of the _filth _you associate yourself with. You are a _witch."_

"But I'm not a witch," she choked, eyes streaming.

"You are as good as one," he snarled. "And do you know what happens to people who are suspected of being witches? They are _burned_. Ashes to ashes. It is only fitting, wouldn't you agree?"

Now she was crying again, unable to pry herself from his iron grip. Keeping one hand closed around her throat, her attacker tightened his grip around his wand and whispered, _"Incendio!" _as the floor was set ablaze.

Of course she knew that she wasn't going to be able to save herself, but she fought with everything she had: kicking and punching her attacker as the flames began to lick at her feet. Some tiny part of her mind had registered that although he had claimed to despise witches and called wizards "filth", he himself was holding a wand, and was standing quite calmly as if he was immune to fire. But this strange anomaly was the last of her concerns, as she herself suddenly burst into flame, the fire leaping into her hair, her clothes, her _skin…_

And while she burned alive, her assailant watched her with a horrible grin on his face. He stood there until after she was long dead, her house nothing more than a heap of cinders and smoke curling into the sky.

People began to pour out of their houses, calling the police and charging bravely into the wreckage as though they thought something could be salvaged. Within five minutes, at least a hundred Muggles were crowded around the ruins, but none of them saw the man kneeling in front of a pile of ashes.

* * *

Across the city, the faint acrid tang of smoke could still be sensed, carried on the slight breeze. A young man stood on a high balcony, barely visible to anyone walking on the street below, his face turned up to the sky and one pale hand resting on the railing. He hadn't come outside because of the smoke, but he could smell it as soon as he had stepped out. Bright blue eyes flickered in the direction of the Thames as the sound of Muggle sirens reached his ears. He sighed lightly; one of the disadvantages to buying a flat in a Muggle neighbourhood was the incessant noise that had never ceased once since he had moved in the week before.

When the sirens had faded and the smell of smoke had dissipated, he again stared up at the sky, but it wasn't the stars he was looking at: the outline of a large bird could be seen soaring towards him, a letter tied to its leg.

With a barely audible whoosh of air, the eagle owl landed on the balustrade, its unblinking golden eyes staring up at the boy balefully. "Hullo, Archimedes," William Riddle said, stroking the tip of the owl's head as he untied the letter from its claw. "Have another letter from Mum, do you?"

The owl hooted softly in answer and swooped away into the night as soon as it was free, not even bothering to accept the treat Will offered. After it vanished into the darkness, he opened the envelope and pulled out the letter inside. His fingers brushed the wand in his robes, and a small orb of light burst into existence in front of him, hovering over the parchment. He had invented the spell himself so he could stay up reading as long as he wanted during his time at Hogwarts.

"Very impressive," a quiet voice said from behind him, and he turned around to see a shadow standing illuminated in the light from the flat, the wind ruffling her auburn hair.

"Pippa." Will exhaled, leaning back against the cold railing. "I didn't know you were still here."

"Clearly." Her tone was dry as she walked towards him. "Ceph and Sylvia just left. I reckon I'll be on my way too—Merlin, is that smoke?" She frowned, inhaling deeply and turning her head toward the source of the smell.

"Yes, I would assume so." Will matched her deadpan tone perfectly as he folded up the letter and stuck it none too gently back inside the envelope.

This didn't escape Pippa's notice. "Who sent you a letter? Your parents?"

He nodded, running a hand through his curly hair and reaching out a hand to cup the orb of light in his palm, closing his fingers over it so that his hand glowed yellow.

"Didn't you see them earlier today?" Pippa pressed, unimpressed with his tricks; she'd seen it all before. "At King's Cross?"

"Yeah, but Mum wants me to go back to the manor tomorrow morning, so I'm assuming something else came up." Will sounded neither pleased nor displeased about returning to his childhood home; then again, he could be remarkably impassive when he felt like it. "You're on your way to Diagon Alley, then?"

Pippa paused. "Yes. I suppose I am." She waited another moment for him to offer to walk her out, but none came. She tried not to look too disappointed as she pushed herself off the rail and brushed past him, touching his shoulder gently as she did. He closed his eyes briefly at the sensation, but didn't turn to watch her leave.

"Feels strange, doesn't it? Not being at Hogwarts?" she asked just before she stepped inside.

Will was silent for a long moment, thinking of the remote castle that had been a second home for seven years. "Yes, it does." He allowed a small smile to cross his lips, staring blindly out at the city stretched before him. "Good night, Pippa."

"Good night, William," she replied, a teasing tone to her voice, and left him to his brooding. Not long after, he went back inside, tasting the smoke that still lingered in the air.


	2. Of Traveling and Funerals

**This chapter is long overdue; I'm so sorry. I should have updated sooner.**

**Anyway, I'm finding it quite amusing to write, and very different from _Dancing With Time_, where Clara and Tom were the young ones and Cepheus and Sylvia were much older. Now everything's the other way around ;)**

* * *

Shortly before he left for Riddle Manor the following morning, Will was interrupted by a loud, urgent knock on the front door. He frowned and looked up from where he was buttoning his coat, his eyes landing on his own reflection in the mirror. Who could possibly be calling on him at this hour?

He strode over to the door and pulled it open, his eyebrows raising in surprise when he came face-to-face with his best friend since childhood, Cepheus Black. Cepheus and his Muggle girlfriend, Sylvia Fitzgerald, had bought the basement flat during the summer and had offered to let Will live in the upstairs flat free of charge. Cepheus's twin, Eridanus, still lived with Alyssa and Alphard at their manor, and Pippa had moved to Diagon Alley to begin her training as a Healer.

The four of them—Will, Cepheus, Eridanus and Pippa—had been a tight-knit group during their time at Hogwarts, despite being in different Houses. Their friendship had begun in childhood, but had only solidified over the years. Cepheus and Will were both in Ravenclaw, but for different reasons: Will was theoretically brilliant, becoming both Prefect and Head Boy, but often fell short when it came to matters concerning social interaction. Cepheus had always been the one to interpret the world for Will, and had a much better grasp of human nature and emotional intelligence. Eridanus was the eternally optimistic Hufflepuff, able to bring light to the gravest of situations, and Gryffindor Pippa was as fierce as a lion and loyal to a fault.

"Will," Cepheus said at once, running an agitated hand through his shaggy brown hair. He stepped inside, ducking under Will's arm and turning back to face him, his usually cheerful expression grave. "Did you smell smoke last night?"

"Yes," Will said slowly, recalling the bitter tang in his mouth when he'd been standing on the balcony. "Why do you ask?"

In answer, Cepheus shoved a copy of a Muggle newspaper at him. Will reached into his pocket and pulled out his glasses—an unfortunate side-effect of likely reading too much as a child—and squinted at the miniscule writing lining the front page.

_The remains of twenty-year-old Helen Fitzgerald were found in Mayfair at approximately ten o'clock last night. The fire department was called to the scene, but her house was entirely burnt, and neighbours recall her walking inside minutes before the fire. Witnesses are encouraged to contact the Fitzgerald family or the police._

Will raised one eyebrow and glanced up at Cepheus, his glasses slipping down over his nose. "Fitzgerald," he mused. "I presume she is—_was_ Sylvia's elder sister?"

Cepheus stared at him in disbelief. "Of _course _she's Sylvia's sister. Merlin, Will, where have you been for the past three years?"

The dark-haired boy made a dismissive noise and folded up his glasses, placing them back in his robes. "I didn't know she had a sister," he said, handing the newspaper back to Cepheus.

His friend's eyes now looked as if they were about to pop out of his head. "Her sister's _dead _and all you can think about was that you didn't _know _she had a sister?"

Will blinked. "Of course not. I was also lamenting the poor quality of the writing in that newspaper."

"For Merlin's _sake!" _Cepheus nearly shouted. "No, you bloody _idiot, _I want you to attend her funeral! It's later today, and it would mean so much to Sylvia—"

"Would it?" Will interrupted. "I was under the impression that she despised me."

Cepheus slumped over the back of the nearest chair and buried his head in his hands. "If she despised you, she wouldn't have agreed to let you live in this flat rent-free! Not everybody hates you, William—"

"My apologies," Will said coolly. "My experience so far has been the opposite."

Here Cepheus was faced with the very familiar contradiction of wanting to stalk away from his best friend coupled with the pity he often felt for Will. He, Eridanus, and Pippa had spent seven years defending the "silent freak" from the other, less-accepting students. Will's intelligence had always set him apart from the rest of the world, and even as a Ravenclaw he had often been treated cruelly as a result. Whenever Will _did _speak, it was usually to prove someone wrong or to contradict a professor's opinion, naturally earning him numerous enemies who didn't understand that he did not intend to insult them personally. Cepheus wondered if Will know how much of a curse his intellect was.

"Please," he finally said, raising his head. "Come to the funeral with me. I don't want to be the only wizard there."

"Fine," Will replied after another moment, seeing the desperation in his friend's eyes. "When is it?"

"This afternoon. And it's a Muggle funeral. Whatever you do, _don't _wear robes. Wear a—a suit or something."

"But I don't own a—"

"Think of something," Cepheus said impatiently, stress making his voice crack. "Sylvia's with her family now and I—hang on, where are you going?" He had evidently noticed that Will was wearing a coat.

"Back to the manor. Mum sent me a letter last night. I should be back by noon." Will grabbed his wand and strode over to the fireplace, Cepheus watching him with a furrowed brow.

"Why? You just saw them yesterday when you were seeing your sisters off to Hogwarts."

"Yes—Mum probably wants me to rearrange the furniture or something." Will cast his eyes upward, as if asking for divine intervention, before turning his gaze back to Cepheus. "And I'll find a suit," he added, a touch of sarcasm to his voice.

"You better," Cepheus said warningly, slumping down onto the couch and dropping the newspaper onto his face. "Aren't you Apparating?"

"No," Will said, with a crooked smile. "I hate Apparating." He grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and tossed it in before stepping inside himself. "See you soon, Ceph."

"And for your information, Sylvia also has a younger sister. Her name is Alice and she's seventeen!" Cepheus called after him. "She has parents too, in case you're interested!"

Will was still smirking when he stepped out of the fireplace at Riddle Manor. The sitting-room had not changed in the seven days that had elapsed since he had moved to London, a notion that was almost startling to him. He had lived in this place for his entire life, and perhaps some small, irrational part of him thought that the manor would be inexplicably changed in his absence. But nothing, as far as he could tell, was altered: the heavy curtains were drawn back from the picture windows, looking out onto the hedgerows and the twisting maze of gardens, peppered with colourful flowers and sculpted concrete fountains; the leather couch pushed against the far wall where the Riddles' black cat, Merlin, was lounging; the towering bookshelves whose tomes were well-worn by Will's fingers; and the ornate glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the pieces sparkling in the sunlight.

He heard voices murmuring across the entryway, and reluctantly pushed himself forward, through the foyer with its spiraling mahogany staircase and ornate front doors and to the kitchen. The adjoining dining-room was rarely used unless they had formal company; Will remembered accidentally locking himself inside once when he was very small and learning how to use a lockpick the Muggle way. His mother had been delighted and his father coldly amused.

But he forced himself to stifle the nostalgia and continued on to the kitchen, where his mother and godparents were sitting round the table and speaking in low, anxious voices which immediately quelled when he entered. The old house-elf, Minnie, was clearing up after breakfast.

"Look who decided to join us," Cepheus's father Alphard Black said warmly, setting down his mug and grinning at Will with the easy smile both of his sons possessed. "How's life in London?"

"Noisy," Will replied, not entirely happily, as he sat down at the head of the table. Minnie, he noticed, greeted him like a houseguest as she passed him a cup of Butterbeer.

"Yes, life in London is generally that way," Alyssa Black said sardonically. "Are Ceph and Sylvia doing well?"

"I suppose so," Will answered, taking a sip of his drink. "At least until last night. Sylvia's sister Helen was killed—her house burnt to the ground."

The adults all exchanged worried looks. "Helen Fitzgerald?" Dylan MacDougal asked. "That's a shame. Apparently she just started a job at the Ministry. Muggle Relations, I think it was. She must have been one of the only Muggles to work there, and now they're going to have to find another one."

"The funeral is this afternoon," added Will as Archimedes swooped in through the window, a dead mouse in his claws. "I told Cepheus I would attend."

"And how much did he pay you to do that?" Clara asked dryly, speaking for the first time. "You'll have no idea how to behave at a Muggle funeral. Do you even have anything to wear?"

Will shook his head. "But it shouldn't matter if I wear robes," he argued. "The Fitzgeralds are already aware of the magical world."

"Yes, but they're not going to be the only guests there," his mother pointed out.

"Right," he muttered, staring down at his Butterbeer. He despised the way he spoke, which was why he did so as little as possible. Will knew, with the general sense of uninvited superiority that most highly intelligent people possessed, that he was brilliant, that his intellectual capacity far surpassed the vast majority of the world's. He thought in abstract, theoretical ideas, his mind jumping from notion to notion like a hummingbird. He was always thinking, always pondering, coming to deductions and conclusions and solving theoretical problems with a speed that left most disbelieving.

But he had never been good at speaking aloud. It was as if there was a block between his brain and his mouth, so that he was never able to articulate his thoughts properly. He was quiet, but not necessarily out of choice. Whereas Tom was eloquent and charming, able to captivate people with just a few words, Will was about as charismatic as a toad. It was why he had been whispered about behind his back during his years at Hogwarts; scoffed at because he spent all of his free time in the library. He had been a reclusive genius out of necessity, not choice. He had tripped and stuttered over his words during the graduation ceremony at Hogwarts, baffling the rest of the students. Cathy had teased him mercilessly about it when they were children until Will no longer bothered explaining himself to other people. He had locked himself up tighter than a drum until even those who knew him best had no idea what he was thinking on any given day—at least, until he spoke.

Clara was regarding him thoughtfully. "You're about Tom's height. I'll see if he has anything you can wear. Minnie," she instructed, "Go up to our room and bring down one of Tom's suits, please."

The house-elf bowed low, her nose almost touching the ground. "Whatever Miss wants," she agreed before scurrying out of the room.

"Well, Mum," Will said when she had disappeared, "I highly doubt you invited me over here just for a pleasant talk. What is it?"

His mother sat back in his chair, her grey eyes fixed on Will. "Your father has been commissioned for a job in Burma," she explained. "There is a cursed ruby the Ministry wants him to examine. We're leaving tonight, and I don't know how long we'll be gone—a month at the most."

Will continued to watch her warily. Although Tom did not technically _work _for the Ministry, they often called him away on trips across the world to examine Dark artifacts and study rare magic, which he was paid handsomely for. As Head of the Department of Mysteries, Clara often accompanied him on the expedition to research and document the objects for the Ministry's archives. Tom had been going on the trips for as long as Will could remember—and there had been several occasions where he, Cathy and Eleanor had come along, most notably to South America and once to Africa—but his parents had been leaving regularly since Eleanor had started Hogwarts. Will knew the fact that he had been called back to the manor meant that there was something different about this time. "And?" he asked cautiously, crossing his arms.

"And we're going to stop off in Albania to see an old friend of ours—"

"You mean an old friend of _yours_," Will corrected. "There's no point in trying to delude yourself anymore, Mum."

Alyssa grinned into her tea.

"Fine, an old friend of _mine," _Clara said firmly, looking half-annoyed, half-amused. "Her name is Luana and she's about three years older than you. She's moving to London in a few days and has somewhere to live, but I was hoping you could show her around the city and make her feel comfortable."

"And how much are you going to pay me to do that?" Will asked wryly, echoing her earlier words. "I don't have a job, so I have to get money _somehow_."

"Yes, by exploiting other people." His mother sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose and sounding exasperated. "You are exactly like Tom sometimes. No, Will, I'm not going to pay you to do something that should be attempted simply out of human decency—but I am going to pay you to look after Merlin while we're gone. Minnie's not getting any younger, and it's a lot to ask her to even take care of the manor, let alone Merlin and Archimedes." (They'd owned another owl long ago, named Alistair, but he had died when Will was still a toddler).

When she was five, Eleanor had been playing in the woods near the manor, where she'd found an abandoned kitten lying in a pile of leaves, with jet-black fur and one gold and one green eye. She had begged Clara and Tom to keep him until her wish had been granted, and had given him the cleverest name her five-year-old brain could think of: Merlin. It wasn't the cat, per se, that the others had a problem with: it was his complete and utter disdain for anyone but Eleanor—a trait that had only intensified when she'd gone off to Hogwarts, choosing to get a new owl instead of bringing her faithful cat with her. Now nobody but her even went near Merlin, which was exactly the way the cat liked it.

"But he's _ancient_, Mum," Will whined, sounding for a moment like a little boy again.

"That's a good thing," Dylan tried to cheer him up. "That means he'll be less work to take care of."

The opportunity of being paid was admittedly tempting. Although he didn't need to pay rent for his flat, living in London—especially Muggle London—was expensive, and Will didn't foresee himself getting a job anytime soon. He knew he couldn't live off his parents' money forever—once he got to a certain age he knew they would outright cut him off—unlike Cepheus and Eridanus, who would likely be wealthy but unemployed their entire lives, like their parents and grandparents before them; and he didn't want to become a Healer like Pippa. Although Clara had many contacts at the Ministry of Magic, nothing _interested _him there. Will wanted to do something original and inventive, something that would provide him mental stimulation without having to interact with too many people. Truthfully, he wanted an occupation similar to Tom's, but he knew opportunities like that were few and far between.

"Fine," Will said after a long silence, idly wondering if he could let Merlin loose into the streets and make it look like an accident. "I'll take care of the cat."

Clara looked relieved. "Thank you," she told him fervently. "Both Lyssa and Dylan refused—er, _declined_, so he really has nowhere else to go."

Will guessed that was what they'd been arguing about before he'd come in—just as he was about to comment, the kitchen door opened again and Tom appeared instead of Minnie, holding a dark suit. "Welcome back, William," he said coolly as he strode over to Will, who gratefully took the suit. "Is living in London proving to be too difficult?"

"No," Will replied at once, trying not to sound too intimidated; he always felt a mixture of fear coupled with awe around his father. "Mum was just telling me about your trip. She wants me to be a tour guide and a cat owner while you're gone."

"I see," Tom said quietly; the atmosphere in the room had changed imperceptibly, as always, with his presence. "I assure you that you may keep the cat if you wish."

"Yes, please do," Clara added, and hurriedly clapped a hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that—Merlin means a lot to Nellie…"

Tom smirked and gave her a level stare. "If it was that beloved to her, she would have chosen to bring it to Hogwarts." He turned back to Will. "What is the suit for?"

"Muggle funeral," Will admitted. "Sylvia's sister died and Cepheus wants me to attend."

Tom arched one eyebrow. "Interesting," he said slowly. "The story was in the _Daily Prophet _as well. The affairs of Muggles are not given much attention in the paper, for obvious reasons."

"So does that mean the fire was somehow connected with wizards?" asked Alphard, frowning.

"Perhaps," Tom replied, not sounding particularly concerned. He put a hand on his wife's shoulder. "Come, Clara. You must prepare your belongings if we are to leave by nightfall."

Clara nodded and stood up, smiling warmly at the assembled group. "I trust you'll all behave yourselves while I'm gone," she teased, but she was looking directly at Will. "And remember to be kind to Luana," she told him firmly. "I've given her your address. Just—please don't set Merlin on her or anything, all right?"

Will gave a faint smile. "I see you're as suspicious as ever, Mum."

"I have to be," Clara said darkly, and headed toward the doorway where Tom waited.

* * *

Will tugged uncomfortably at his tie as he and Cepheus stood in the middle of the funeral parlour, wearing his father's suit and feeling more out of place than ever. They had been forced to sit through a tearful service, led by Sylvia's family, as the urn containing Helen Fitzgerald's ashes was brought to the front of the room. Now the entire group, minus Will and Cepheus, were gathered in a weeping circle around the urn.

"She was a nice girl," Cepheus said thickly; he swallowed hard, as if the emotion of the moment threatened to overwhelm him. Will glanced at him sideways; the temptation to Disapparate back to his flat was almost irresistible. He did not care about this Muggle girl or her family; why did he have to waste an entire afternoon listening to them snivel on like children?

"I think I might go over to Pippa's after this," Will muttered, more to alleviate the tension than anything else. If he couldn't be alone, he wanted to be with someone who wouldn't expect him to speak.

Cepheus looked surprised. "I…I think she would like that very much," he replied, blinking owlishly at Will. "You know, mate, you've always been—" But he didn't get to finish his sentence, for a blonde girl had thrown her arms around his shoulders, sobbing into his neck. The mourners appeared to be filing out of the parlour; Cepheus patted Sylvia's back awkwardly while shooting Will a helpless look.

He took that as an excuse to escape; glancing back one more time at the urn, Will pushed his hands into his pockets and began to walk toward the door, but was interrupted by a quiet voice behind him.

"You're a wizard, aren't you?"

Will turned around slowly, already prepared to deny it. But, as poor at reading people as he was, he could tell that the girl already knew the answer. She was evidently Sylvia's sister; they both had wavy blonde hair and hazel eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses. But where Sylvia's expression was gentle and unassuming, this girl's features were hard and her face was resolute, a fiery look in her eyes. She reminded him of Pippa.

"You're Cepheus Black's friend," the girl continued, taking another step towards Will. "The boy who lives in the flat above him and Sylvia. William Riddle."

Will didn't answer her; he was debating whether or not to just Confound her and leave, but another part was admittedly intrigued.

"My name is Alice," she said, not seeming at all bothered by his silence. He vaguely remembered Cepheus telling him that Sylvia had a younger sister as well. Now, he supposed, her _only _sister. "Cepheus told me about you. He said that you were a genius. To be honest, you don't look like one. Maybe he was just being nice—couldn't think of anything else to say—"

"What do you want?" Will finally asked, in as silkily dangerous a voice as he could muster. It was his best imitation of Tom, but he couldn't sound even one-tenth as threatening as his father could. Alice didn't look intimidated in the least.

"Oh, so you do talk, then," she replied, raising her eyebrows. "I was beginning to wonder. Anyway, surely you must know something about how to determine the cause of death. I know that there's more to _this _than what everybody thinks—"

"That is not how magic works," Will said stiffly, and turned away from her, but Alice caught him by the arm and held him back, her grip surprisingly strong.

"My sister's death wasn't an accident," she argued. "It was _murder. _Listen, Helen was the most careful person I knew, and there was absolutely no way a fire could have been started in the thirty seconds after she entered her house. The police have absolutely no idea what happened, and they don't care anyway. But _I _do. She was my sister. She'd just started a new job at the Ministry of Magic, and I know she had enemies—people who didn't want a Muggle to work there. It had to be someone from _your _world. And…" Here Alice stuttered for the first time, trying her hardest to sound flippant, "And you're the only one who can help me. If you're as smart as they say you are…"

Will stared down at her for a long moment, clenching his jaw. "That is all very touching," he said flatly. "But I am…not interested in solving a _murder case,_ as you seem to be convinced. Perhaps you would have better luck in contacting a…what is the Muggle word? Detective?—for this sort of thing."

"I have money," Alice called after him, desperation beginning to creep into her voice. "My family has money. I—we can give you anything you want. Gold—jewels—"

Will turned his head slightly to look back at her, the blue spark of his eyes glinting in the dim light. "I believe," he declared, "That you are simply in denial about the manner of your sister's death. If you provide substantial evidence that it was indeed a murder, I would be more likely to agree." And without another word, he strode past the still-embracing Cepheus and Sylvia, leaving Alice Fitzgerald standing in the middle of the room.


End file.
